Replication
by prospectkiss
Summary: Everything has changed for Christmas. Lana is in prison, Mr. Wright is disbarred, and Ema has lost her holiday cheer. But instead of looking back, an old friend might help her move forward.


**Author's Notes: **This was written for the 2014 Ace Attorney Secret Lawyers exchange on Tumblr.

* * *

><p>Ema leaned against the doorframe of the newly rechristened Wright Talent Agency. The slats jutted into the space between her shoulder blades and caught at the thin material of her pink dress, the wood rough and scratching at her skin. Cheesy holiday carols, the melodies slightly muted, played from a stereo hidden under one of the tables. People milled around, some she knew and others she didn't, all caught up in soft-spoken conversations or in boisterous laughter, all wearing grins and smiles.<p>

Alone at the entrance, she swirled the cheap fruit punch around in her plastic cup and watched the foam dissipate. She wore no grin. Not even a smile.

She was supposed to be happy; after all, it was her first visit back from Europe for the holidays, and Mr. Wright had invited her to his Christmas party. It was a small affair, attended only by those he trusted most. She wasn't sure how she made that list; perhaps Lana had put in a word with Mr. Edgeworth, who in turn informed Mr. Wright. Maybe Mr. Wright learned she was visiting and felt obligated to invite her, in remembrance of happier times.

Just thinking about his illogical disbarment made her feel sick to her stomach.

The little girl, Trucy – she really was a ray of sunshine, though. Grudgingly, Ema admitted that the junior magician had quite a talent. Sometime before she returned to her studies she vowed to corner Trucy and study her tricks. No mere illusion could stand under scientific scrutiny.

She watched as Trucy ran up to Mr. Edgeworth, who still managed to look sophisticated in a maroon sweater and slacks. From behind her back, seemingly out of nowhere, Trucy pulled out a bouquet of poinsettias, thrust them at the flustered prosecutor, and planted a kiss against his cheek. He turned nearly as red as the flowers.

As her lips quirked up at the scene, Ema wondered if she had ever been that sweet with Lana.

She wished Lana could be here.

Christmas was one of the happiest times of the year for Ema when she was small. She didn't remember her parents too well, but that didn't matter; Lana made sure every Christmas was as merry as could be. It was the one time of the year Ema could make Lana drop everything, just for one day, and drink egg nog and eat cookies and watch holiday movies and curl up under a blanket together sipping cocoa. Even when she was Chief Prosecutor, Lana always made sure to reserve Christmas for just the two of them.

But now… Lana still had a few more years left of her sentence. As far as traditions went, prison visitation was a poor substitute for holiday festivities.

Her sister could sense something was wrong during their time together the previous day. But how could Ema say anything? _"Sorry, I'm sad you're in there? I hate Christmas now because you're gone?"_

Lana was imprisoned, Mr. Wright had lost his career, and she had been invited to his party out of pity. Christmas was not special. It had no inherent scientific qualities to distinguish it from any other winter day, like the Solstice. She couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to track the alcohol content of the punch with the inebriated behaviors of the guests. It might have made a spectacular chart, if she could bring herself to care.

At the ripe old age of 20, Ema could feel the roots of cynicism taking hold.

"Not really feeling the holiday cheer, huh?"

Startled, Ema whipped her head up. On the other side of the entrance stood a young woman, close to her age. The first thing Ema noticed was the short purple dress, clinging just enough to hint at the curves under the shimmery fabric. Then she took in the smooth, soft-looking skin. And dark hair, pulled up into a messy bun. Wispy strands framing a gentle face. Enormous brown eyes, clever and bright and gleaming in a way that made Ema's breath unexpectedly come up short.

She recognized the woman – Maya Fey. Mr. Wright had introduced her to his normal assistant shortly after Lana's trial, a lifetime ago. Ema remembered debating whether spirit channeling was scientifically possible with a kooky teenage spirit medium. Looking at the person in front of her now, keenly aware of each thump of her heart, Ema realized she was not the only one who had grown in the last few years.

She brought her drink up to her lips. _Expansion of vessels allows for more blood to flow, increasing visibility against the skin. _Ema concentrated on the mechanical explanation as she hid her sudden blush behind the rim of the cup. Sipping slowly, allowing her heated skin time to cool, she tried to give an aloof, nonchalant shrug.

"Nah. Holidays aren't really my thing anymore. Scientifically speaking."

Maya blinked, her expression melting into sympathy. No – not sympathy; looking closely at her eyes, at the way Maya gazed back at her, Ema saw not pity, but understanding. Maya moved closer, mirroring her stance on the opposite side of the doorframe.

"Yeah. This time of year makes me think of my mom. I never really knew her, but my sister did. And – And I wish she was here. Really here. Not just channeled."

"Your mother?"

"No, Mia."

Mia Fey. The person Lana had told Ema to find if she was ever in trouble. She remembered Lana's eyes lighting up when she first entered law school, telling Ema all about the best friend she had found, someone who was a 'kindred spirit,' who might one day be something more. Remembered Lana holding her in a firm hug late one night while she was Chief Prosecutor, clutching at her white-knuckled and making her promise to ask for Mia Fey's help if anything ever happened to her. Remembered staring at Mr. Wright and realizing the descendant of Mia Fey was her only hope of saving her sister.

At least Lana was alive.

Feeling guilty and selfish, Ema looked aside. "I'm sorry. I was just feeling sad about Lana, but– at least she's still– I mean–"

"N-No! I didn't mean to make you feel worse." Maya shifted forward, fingers stretched out, brushing against her arm. "I guess I kinda failed at distracting you, huh?"

"You were trying to cheer me up?"

Ema wasn't sure which part of her felt warmer: her forearm, hot beneath Maya's fingers, or her face, heating up once more from embarrassment and something else, something unscientific, illogical, unreasonable and – wondrously terrifying.

She was amazed to see a light flush creep across Maya's cheeks. Maya's eyes widened, gaze flitting to and fro, and finally settled on a spot above them.

"Mistletoe," Maya said softly, gesturing up with her free hand. "You know the tradition, right?"

"There are a number of uses for mistletoe," Ema began, words tumbling out unexamined while her mind screamed at her to stem the flow. "For example, if you–"

Her voice abruptly cut off as she felt lips press against her cheek, full and supple and gentle.

Maya leaned back and offered her a small smile, shy and mischievous all at once.

As her stomach dropped and her pulse spiked, Ema entertained the idea that sometimes the best way to move forward with an experiment was to scrap the old data and begin anew.

But moreso, she wondered how she could convince Maya to do that again. After all, replication was key to scientific advancement.

Maybe it was the key to emotional advancement, too.


End file.
